Angel Band
by TimeSpace64
Summary: If you've read some of my other stories, this one is a little interactive, so before going in have YouTube ready. This is a one-shot in memory of Peter Tork. This story is somewhat similar to my other story, "You Bring the Summer," but more historically accurate due to recent events and is from the point of view of the Television Monkees. Disclaimer: I don't own the Monkees.


_**In Memory of Peter Tork**_

_**February 13, 1942-February 21, 2019**_

The smell of sea salt tickled Peter's nose. As a gust of wind blew gently across his face, he fluttered his eyes open, revealing a bright blue sky. He sat up, looking out towards the endless ocean in front of him. Frankly, he was quite confused. Last he recalled, he was in Connecticut, nowhere near the Atlantic. How did he end up here? Yet, despite his concern, there was something tranquil about the whole thing. He felt at peace. There were no worries, no pain. No struggles or fatigue. He was just simply at peace. Slowly he got on his feet, the sand shifting ever so slightly below him. He turned around to find an old beach house standing before him. _The _old beach house.

**#Magnolia Simms #The Monkees**

Instinctively he started walking towards it. He climbed the stairs he remembered so well. As Peter neared the house, a familiar tune welcomed his ears. It was not one of his favorites, but he welcomed it all the same. "Magnolia Simms" guided Peter to the house, Mike's voice growing ever so louder as he neared the house. When Peter reached the back door, he naturally opened it, shutting it quietly behind him. It was exactly as he remembered it. There was the antique furniture scattered about, the random posters and tiki heads all about the walls. Even Mr. Schneider was there, sitting in his chair, looking as stupid as ever. Peter found himself wandering, gently touching furniture and humming along with the song, smiling whenever Mike's voice would crack or when he would just ramble.

In Peter's head he could recall the memories that lived in this place. There was that time when they threw a chaperone party so Davy could date General Vandenburg's daughter. He could see Micky standing on the stairs, dawning Mrs. Weefer's purple dress and a blonde wig (a backwards wig at that). There was also the time they chained Davy to a chair so he wouldn't go looking for girls (or girls come looking for him). Peter couldn't help but laugh, remembering how defeated Davy looking in his chair. There was also the time they went to court with the Devil himself, Mr. Zero, and they won. Peter could recall how the harp felt in his hands, how the strings seemed to play without his intention, even though he was strumming them.

"Peter?" A voice asked. Peter heard it, but it hardly registered in his mind as someone Peter might have known. It was like an echo. Someone, _something _said his name. But from where or from whom, Peter could not tell. He heard it like a whisper in the wind. All the same, however, Peter turned in hopes of finding whoever said his name.

"Davy?" Peter's voice cracked at the sight of the young Englishman who stood in the doorway to the pad, his eyes wide in surprise and his eyebrows knitted almost into a unibrow.

"Peter?!" Davy exclaimed.

"Davy!" Peter smiled. The two ran and hugged each other, both overwhelmed at the sight of their old friend.

"Oh Davy we've missed you!" Peter exclaimed.

"I've missed you guys too!" Davy said. The two took a step back from the hug and couldn't help but smile. Peter was overjoyed at the sight of a man he hasn't seen in years. "Peter how did you get here?" Davy asked, the reality of the situation slipping his mind.

"I…" Peter suddenly frowned. "I… I don't know. Last I clearly remember, I was at home, in Connecticut." That memory seemed so long ago now, it felt almost like a dream.

"Oh no," Davy frowned. "Mate, you…"

Peter frowned. He knew. Deep down, he knew. It was the only logical explanation. Mike wasn't here, and neither was Micky. It was just him and Davy. Peter remembered his illness, his pain. He couldn't feel it anymore, though. The facts were there, but any attempt at revisiting the feeling the pain brought him failed. He felt free. All the memories of his life, his pain, seemed like dreams now. They were untouchable.

"Yeah, I can see that now," Peter admitted. "But you, you've been here for eight years, all by yourself."

"Not all by myself," Davy said. "I've had company. Millie drops by every now and again. My grandfather even comes by sometimes. So does Mr. Babbit and Mrs. Weefers still comes and cleans the second Tuesday of every month with an R in it…"

"I'm sorry," Peter said.

"It's not your fault. It's not mine, either. We all end up here sometime. I'm curious as to what I've missed, though," Davy forced a smile. "I see little bits, here and there, but never the whole thing. Come check this out." Davy walked over to the television and Peter followed. Davy played around with the old television set till the screen fizzled to life, showing the image of an old man, sitting on a bed with a woman, who had her arm around him. She said little things, here and there, but the man sat in silence, fiddling with his hands, coping.

"Is that…" Peter began to ask.

"Micky and Coco," Davy confirmed. "We can watch them and Mike from here. I've been watching you three and my family for a while now. It's what I like to do in my spare time."

Peter was fascinated by this. "You've been watching over us, like a guardian angel?"

"You could call it that, yeah," Davy smiled a little. "I haven't been monitoring everything you do, obviously, but I like to catch the highlights. And I'd love to hear what stories you have to tell about _Good Times! _and the Christmas album."

Peter couldn't help but laugh. Davy's excitement on the whole this was all too wholesome. Seeing Davy again filled a hole in Peter that he had forgotten existed. He followed Davy over to the jukebox where he showed off his new selections, which include all the tracks from the two albums that were released after 2012. It included all the tunes they recorded, really.

"There's one other thing I want to show you," Davy said. "See this button? I try not to play with this button too much, but I love to from time to time because it freaks you lot out. Watch this." Davy pressed the button and selected a tune from the record player. Instead of it playing on the jukebox, Peter heard the song playing on the television. There was a little organ prelude, and then Mike's voice again.

_My latest sun is sinking fast_

_My race is nearly run_

_My strongest trials now have past_

_My triumph is begun._

"Davy," Peter moaned.

"Now come on," Davy pressed, dragging Peter over to the television, where they saw Micky and Coco staring at the phone that started to play by itself on the other side of the room. Neither of them moved to touch it, but rather they let it play, silently questioning the probability of it doing that by itself.

_Oh, come, angel band_

_Come and around me, stand_

_Oh, bear me away on on your snow white wings_

_To my immortal home_

_Oh, bear me away on on your snow white wings_

_To my immortal home_

"Now Davy why are you doing this?" Peter asked, reluctantly sitting on the arm of the chair that Davy flopped down in.

"It helps them, I promise. It helps them cope. Go ahead, talk to him."

"What? Are you crazy? We're d-"

"Go sit in front of the TV and talk to him," Davy deadpanned, his childish excitement disappearing. "He'll hear you, I promise." He sighed, remembering when he did this himself years ago. "This is your way of saying goodbye."

The realization took hold of Peter's heart. This was the first time he had felt pain since arriving here. Slowly, Peter moved to the floor, sitting inches away from the television. Peter took a deep breath and whispered, "Micky?"

"He might hear you, but that doesn't mean he's gonna reply back," Davy mentioned from behind him.

Peter sighed again. "Micky, it's okay." He smiled a little, picking his words carefully. "I'm okay now. I'm here with Davy. We're okay. We're fine now. No more heartache now, you hear? You and Mike keep doing what you do best. Davy and I will be here, waiting. We're going to watch over you, too. I promise. We'll see each other again someday."

_Oh, come, angel band_

_Come and around me, stand_

_Oh, bear me away on on your snow white wings_

_To my immortal home_

_Oh, bear me away on on your snow white wings_

_To my immortal home_

**#The Monkees - Angel Band #Lynara66**

They watched as Micky took in a big breath, trying his hardest to control the tears falling from his eyes. They could see Coco tearing up too, though she kept it together for her brother's sake.

"I hope they're having fun," Micky choked a laugh.

"They?" Coco asked him, not moving her arm from her brother's shoulder.

"Peter and Davy. I bet they're gonna cause a lot of trouble up there," Micky chuckled through the tears.

Peter and Davy smiled at that. "He knows us so well," Davy commented.

Peter turned to him, a smile on his face. "You're right, he does." They both stood and started for the front door. "Go show me where we can cause trouble, our Manchester Cowboy."

"With pleasure," Davy beamed, grabbing a cowboy hat off a nearby hat rack and plopping it on his head. He opened the door, gesturing for Peter to leave first. Peter left the pad, and Davy followed right behind him, both giddy with the excitement of adventure and company for years to come.


End file.
